Sheppard Claus, MD
by RadioShack84
Summary: Following the release of a bioweapon, John Sheppard must undertake the immense task of immunizing an entire city’s youth in a single day. With time running out and the enemy afoot, it’s an uphill battle to say the least.


Title: Sheppard Claus, M.D.

Rating: T

Category: Gen

Characters: Sheppard, OC, Beckett, Lorne, McKay

Words: 19,000 (oops!)

Summary: Following the release of a bio-weapon, John Sheppard must undertake the immense task of immunizing an entire city's youth in a single day. With time running out and the enemy afoot, it's an uphill battle to say the least.

A/N: Written for the LJ Sheppard H/C secret santa challenge for nebbyjen who wanted a Shep whump fic, taking place in bad weather, where Lorne comes to the rescue. Also, there's a bit of that misplaced-Rodney prompt in here too. ;)

* * *

"Colonel Sheppard, sir! Colonel, wake up! Please, sir, milady asks that you come most quickly!"

Frantic whispering and the hand on his shoulder shaking him roughly drew John to wakefulness. He sat up quickly, squinting in the shaft of light that streamed through the now-open draperies which served as a door to his inner sleeping quarters. "Wick? What's going on?" Sheppard asked, even as he shoved back the covers and reached for his sidearm.

Wickandrus Rhoi bowed his head solemnly. "Sir, it has been finished. Tier Two has been released and the end is close upon us. Her Eminence seeks your counsel."

"What?" John's eyes grew wide in shock, and he shook his head, vaulting off the bed and throwing on his clothes as quickly as he could. "No, dammit, the Rah'jien gave their word…"

"Their words mean nothing." Wick's eyes conveyed sadness, and not a little rage, but his voice was deadly calm and urgent as he spoke. "Doctor Beckett and Duke Sandrin have already joined the Mage in the Preparation Hall. Please, sir, make haste!"

John finished fastening his thigh holster and yanked on his boots before jogging out of the room after Wick. The palace grounds were extensive, but were rather deserted due to the early hour. _Due to other things as well_, Sheppard reminded himself morosely. When he and Wick reached the ground-level kitchen facilities of the main house, they cut through at a run, startling the lone cook who had just arrived on duty for breakfast detail. The woman would probably be filling lunch and dinner detail also, if anyone was eating. John shouted an apology to her as they exited the kitchen at the other end and began taking the stairs two and three at a time toward Mage Ayleine Rhoi's private wing, noticing the conspicuous lack of guards as they rushed past. John entered the Preparation Hall just behind Wick, and found that Beckett and Sandrin were indeed already present, as was the Mage herself.

"Wick, Colonel Sheppard, please sit down. There are matters of grave importance that must be resolved this night," Ayleine greeted. John looked into the eyes of the leader of the Hadrah, a woman who, during the last month, he had come to know and respect as much as he did Elizabeth. Ayleine gave him a small nod. She was strong, no one could dispute that fact, but he could see that the past days had taken their toll on her. Eyes that had flashed with hope and determination at their first meeting were now dull with loss and ill-concealed fear and red from tears shed unacknowledged, and if John was to wager a guess, unseen.

The Mage continued, "Sandrin confirmed just minutes ago that members of the Rah'jien alliance have enacted the Tier Two protocol. As Dr. McKay has also confirmed the meteorological data, no doubt remains. In just over thirty-five hours, all Hadrah within my protectorate will be dead."

"Due grace, milady, but I knew the Rah'jien were not to be taken at their word! They have no honor and now all shall perish because of it!"

"Wick…" The Mage shook her head, defeated, as she looked at her son. "What was I to do? They would to torture your men, and all are sick now. They did not promise us that Tier Two would be stayed, only that our military would go free first." Ayleine coughed harshly, but waved off Beckett as he started to stand.

"You didn't give them anything they wouldn't have by now anyway," John reminded Wick. "As Ayleine told us when she first asked for our assistance, the Hadrah were all infected with Tier One years ago, and it became active when the Rah'jien cut off the supply of viral inhibitors. Your men surrendered, sure, but your base would have fallen within days as your people's condition worsened. The Rah'jien already had Tier Two prepared on the eastern continent. Taking your base was just insurance that their launch of the atmospheric weapon would go smoothly." Sheppard looked intently at his friend, hoping his words would sink in.

Wick was a good fifteen years younger than John, but held a similar military standing due to his unique status as the Mage's son. Even though Duke Sandrin was technically his commander as leader of the Hadran military, Wick was in charge of their equivalent of the Marines and had the option of reporting directly to Ayleine, much as John reported directly to Elizabeth. Sandrin was kept in the loop most of the time, but Sheppard had the impression that Wick didn't mind when he got the chance to operate outside of the Duke's direct chain of command.

"Be that as it may—"

"Wickandrus," Ayleine interrupted. "Past is past. Let us discuss matters that may yet provide for the future of the Hadrah." Sheppard hid a smile as Wick nodded smartly. The younger man had straightened in his seat at the use of his full given name, and John found Ayleine once again reminding him more than a little of Elizabeth.

"When is Major Lorne due back?" Sandrin asked, pulling Sheppard from his thoughts.

"Not for another seventeen hours," John shook his head. "We had no reason to assume that the Jumper would be needed before then."

Lorne had left three days ago for Atlantis, on orders from Beckett to bring back a laundry list of medical and other supplies that would help to ease the Hadrah's suffering as the active virus progressed in the weeks to come. Since the Rah'jien hadn't yet been able to muster the sheer numbers necessary to be a serious military threat within Mage Ayleine's protectorate, not having the Jumper as transportation for a couple of days hadn't seemed to be an issue. Of course that was before the news of Tier Two. John turned to Beckett, sure he was following the Duke's train of thought. "How long do we have to administer the serum?"

Carson glanced at his watch and shrugged, "21 hours, give or take. If we delay beyond that, it won't have much of an effect."

"So we can't wait on Lorne. Even with the Jumper we'd be too crunched for time," John said thoughtfully. "Sandrin, a couple weeks ago you mentioned an animal that you ride in battle. How long would it take to cross the city on one of them?"

"Perhaps three hours," Sandrin replied. "Why do you ask?"

John stood and walked to the other end of the table, where a territorial map of the protectorate—the palace grounds, nobility residences, and the city—was laid out. He glanced at the total area and the map scale, quickly running the calculations in his head. "It should still be doable, but we'll have to have everything ready to go within a couple of hours."

"Colonel, ya can't possibly be suggesting what I think ya are," Beckett said.

"You have a better idea, Doc? The adults are a lost cause…no offense, guys." John glanced at Ayleine and Sandrin, the latter of which snorted in morbid amusement. Sheppard turned back to Beckett, and Carson glimpsed a brief hint of sorrow in the colonel's eyes before he continued, "But you said yourself that the serum you helped develop based on the children's antibodies had a high chance of curing them as long as it was administered within several hours of the Tier Two viral component being introduced. You're needed here to treat those who are already sick, and you have to get the serum to the youth of the nobility. Most of the military is already out of commission and McKay is still down in the city somewhere playing weather man on that project with the other scientists, which leaves me to get it to the city's children."

"Colonel, you're talking about a hundred thousand people that need that treatment! I know ya think you're invincible, son, but you're only one man. There's not enough time."

"Hey, if Santa Claus can do it, so can I." Carson rolled his eyes and John ignored him. "Besides, it takes what, a minute to instruct someone on how to give a shot? We call ahead and get everyone who needs the serum gathered in one location, get a few dozen volunteers trained to give the injections, and go to it. There are eight sections of the city, right? Assuming we're ready to begin in a couple hours, that will give me just over two hours for each section."

"I do not know who this Santa Claus is, Colonel Sheppard, but the two of you must have similar reasoning skills. Your idea is tactically plausible," Sandrin said. Beckett had to hide his grin at the incongruous comparison, but looked like he too was warming to the plan.

"A group of my men have already delivered supplies of the serum to a few of the city's districts, in preparation for the scheduled testing. We could bring the rest as we go ahead to inform people," Wick put in.

"Duke Sandrin can attend to that duty." Ayleine looked at Sheppard. "If you are willing to do this, and I stress that this is your choice, Colonel, then I want Wick to accompany you. I have watched the two of you work together, and in light of the danger that you are undertaking, I will rest more at ease knowing that you have a companion at your side with skills that complement your own."

Beckett frowned, "What sort of danger are ya speaking of, lass? We performed extensive medical tests before we agreed ta assist ya in developing a treatment. Our people are immune ta both the Tier One and Tier Two components."

"You are most correct, Doctor. I am not suggesting that Colonel Sheppard is at risk of contracting the virus. Since your arrival here you have interacted mainly with the ruling class of my protectorate. Now do not mistake my words. The inhabitants of our city are, as a whole, good and kind people, but this disease has served to raise tensions between certain sections. My people are not entirely used to visitors, and while most would willingly set aside their differences to see their children cured of this scourge, some will undoubtedly mistrust Colonel Sheppard's intentions."

"Having Wick along to back me up should be enough to persuade them otherwise," John said, smiling easily at the other man.

"I agree, which is indeed another reason that he will be going with you," Ayleine replied.

"There is also the matter of crossing the district borders," Sandrin pointed out. "Some are heavily guarded, and a few groups are not above laying in wait to ambush new arrivals."

"The number of people well enough ta stand guard will likely be greatly diminished, especially by the time ya reach the further sections of the city, Colonel, but we've already seen several instances of paranoia and violence in the more advanced cases of Tier One. I can only reason that Tier Two will heighten these symptoms, perhaps even reducing some ta madness near the end," Beckett cautioned.

John sighed. "Look, I appreciate your concern, all of you, but that's beside the point. We came here to help you save your people from that damn virus, and we're already too late for most of you. I will not let thousands more die, especially children, if there's even a slight chance they can be saved. So, if you're done trying to scare me, we need to get started."

* * *

An hour and a half later, John stood outside the main house, going over a detailed map of the city. The eight districts were arranged two across and four deep, as looking at them from the palace, each covering approximately 14 square miles. John and Wick would proceed down one row of four sections and back up the other to the palace over the next 19 hours. A meeting hall was present at the center of each section, and Sandrin had rounded up a few men who were still well enough, along with supplies of the serum, and gone ahead to instruct those in need of the treatment to gather at the halls.

Two animals like the ones John and Wick would use for transportation were also being loaded with the serum. They would deliver it to the third and fourth districts to allow Sandrin's group more time to alert the rest of the city. Just then John heard what sounded like a horse's hooves approaching, and he turned to see the animals in question, with Wick and Beckett leading them along.

Sheppard inwardly groaned. Beckett was grinning at him, and thinking back to their earlier conversation in the Preparation Hall, he was almost certain he knew why. Putting on his best smile, John decided he'd at least get in the first jab, "I thought they herded sheep in Scotland, Doc, but you're doing a good job with these." When Beckett's grin didn't falter, John knew he was in trouble.

"Isn't it a wonderful coincidence that ya get ta ride a reindeer around the city, Colonel? From what Wick tells me, they don't fly, but they have been known ta _dash_, and are almost as fast as a _comet_ which should help ya out."

John stared at Carson. "Funny. You do realize that some comets are actually pretty slow, right?"

The doctor just laughed, and Wick was smiling enough that John assumed he'd recently received a lesson about a certain Earth holiday from Beckett. Carefully folding the map, Sheppard tucked it inside his pack, which he slung over one shoulder. "Is this everything we need?"

Beckett nodded, once again serious. He indicated the two pack animals. "Ya should have enough doses of the serum for both sections of the city according ta our population estimates. Wick, lad, are ya sure I can't convince ya ta use one of the doses yourself?"

"No, Carson. Not yet. I realize that my age is borderline for the serum to still work, but since I haven't had the test to be certain I'll not waste a dose on myself unless we have some left over."

"All right, but remember that if ya choose ta take it, you'll need ta do so within the next 19 hours."

Wick nodded. "I'm sure Colonel Sheppard will remind me."

"Yes he will," John said, still eyeing the small herd of animals. They did in fact look exactly like reindeer except for their height, which was comparable to that of a horse. They were saddled like horses too. "So we just jump on and go?" he asked.

"Yes. They are very well trained. You will be riding Veron's mount. I believe his name is Rudolph," Wick deadpanned.

John groaned and glared at Beckett. "You shouldn't encourage him, Doc. Besides, should we really be joking around at a time like this?"

Carson looked suddenly uncomfortable. "No, I suppose not." He handed John another pack.

"What's this?"

"Extra MREs, water, and a med kit. Even with help from the people out there, the two of you have a long road ahead. Ya need ta keep your strength up. Oh, and don't forget ta collect Rodney on your way back."

Sheppard took the pack and handed it to Wick, who quickly slipped it on. "Thanks, Doc. I won't forget Rodney, but we'd better get a move on. We'll see you tomorrow."

"Colonel Sheppard will at least," Wick said, grinning as he mounted his 'reindeer'. That new designation seemed odd to him, yet somehow fitting. Wick's grin faltered as he took the harness straps of one of the other animals from Beckett. "Take care of milady, Carson."

Before Beckett could respond, Wick had skillfully turned both animals and was trotting away. Sheppard was soon following. "Good luck, Doc!" he called over his shoulder.

"You too, Colonel," Beckett said to his retreating back. "You too."

* * *

Treatment of the first district's youth went off without a hitch. Duke Sandrin and his men had done a fine job of putting the word out, and when Wick and Sheppard arrived at the meeting hall, throngs of people were milling about in controlled chaos. Some of the children were accompanied by adults, but many were there alone. Upon recognizing Wick, the crowd had quickly quieted and waited while the two of them explained what needed to happen. Volunteers were chosen and led inside the meeting hall to be instructed on how to inject the serum, lines were formed, and the district's supply of serum was unpacked.

From that point, it was a matter of repetition. Although disposal bins had been gathered for the used syringes, injectors, and gloves, the refuse was of secondary concern. When the bins were full, Sheppard, Wick, and the others began tossing the used injectors to the floor, instructing the young to avoid them as best they could and keep the lines moving along.

By the time the queues had dwindled, John's hand was numb. He hadn't kept track of the number of injections he'd given, but knew the figure was in the hundreds if not more. A couple of the adult volunteers had fallen ill and been unable to continue, so their lines had been divided amongst the others. When the last child wandered away hand in hand with his older brother, John stood from the wooden stool he'd been perched on and stretched while searching out Wick. The other man was nearby, reassuring a small girl who was apparently reluctant to receive the injection. Within moments, though, she was laughing and held still while he administered the serum. Catching his attention Sheppard grinned, then tapped his wristwatch and pointed to the door, signaling that he would be waiting outside.

"Looks like there's a storm brewing after all," John commented as Wick joined him in the courtyard of the meeting hall. It was still early, but if the sun was up it wasn't really evident with the charcoal black clouds that roiled overhead.

"Did Dr. McKay not say as much in his report to us?"

"Yeah, but McKay tends to exaggerate so I thought maybe he was just getting carried away and speaking metaphorically."

"Well, storm or no, Tier Two has been seeded throughout the atmosphere. The natural direction of our winds will see it to our city, and rain will not wash us clean."

"No, but it will still be wet and cold. What say we get started on the next group before that happens?" Sheppard glanced at the digital timer on his watch that he'd set running when they rode away from the palace. The first section had only taken about ninety minutes. So far so good.

"Agreed. I believe you will appreciate the second district of the city, Colonel."

"Why's that?" John asked.

"You've been known to enjoy our fine stout ale, sir. That district of people has made it their way of life to value such things."

* * *

"You really weren't kidding." Sheppard looked around in disbelief as they made their way down the second district's main corridor. Many establishments lined the street, and there was an undeniably common theme to their goods and services: alcohol. Some of the businesses were obviously taverns, with a few people going in and some stumbling out, even at the early hour. Others sold a wide variety of beverages to go, and one shop boasted 'potent' cakes and pastries. That shop was closed, and John decided he was comforted by that fact. He didn't want to know the details of what _potent_ meant in this context, even if he could make an educated guess.

"This district has the largest meeting hall of the city, mainly due to the fact that it couples as a distillery and brewery, which is the district's main source of income." Before Wick could explain further, streaks of lightning sizzled through the clouds above, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. His mount snorted and glanced around nervously at the sudden brightness and noise, but Sheppard's shuddered and abruptly changed direction, bolting when the thunder boomed overhead. Wick heard John's startled curse, and looked over just in time to see his friend hit the ground hard, face-first in a cloud of dust.

Muttering a curse of his own, Wick pulled up on his reins and dismounted. "Colonel! Sir, are you hurt?" he crouched beside Sheppard. After a moment, John coughed and rolled onto his back, groaning as he tried to rub dirt from his eyes. "Colonel Sheppard?"

"Thought you said those things…were well-trained," John rasped, coughing again. His throat felt like he'd swallowed sand, and in reality he pretty much had.

"They are normally not so easily startled. I offer my apologies, sir. Are you able to sit up?"

John shrugged, and blinked as a few water droplets splattered on his face, caking with the dirt and making his skin feel sticky. "Might as well before this storm really gets started." He accepted Wick's proffered hand, wincing as the man eased him to a sitting position.

"Are you certain you're all right, sir? Your face still bleeds."

Sheppard gingerly touched his cheekbone, his fingertips coming away red. Apparently it wasn't the dirt causing the sticky feeling after all. "I'm fine, and I've told you a hundred times that you can stop calling me 'sir'. I'm not in your chain of command."

"And I have told you equally as many times that it is a force of habit, and also a term of respect."

"Fair enough. We'd better round up Rudolph and get going."

"He hasn't gone far," Wick said as he pulled Sheppard to his feet and pointed to where the reindeer was standing near one of the businesses a short distance up the road. "Look."

John did look, and wanted to cry. "You know, there are laws on Earth that prohibit people from driving when drunk, but they never say anything about the sobriety of the _vehicle_." Sheppard began jogging toward the animal, ignoring the pain from bruises he was sure were already forming on various parts of his body. The reindeer had its head bent forward into the barrel that stood in front of the building, a barrel whose label said something to the effect of 'free beer'. "Hey!" he called out, approaching the animal and swinging himself into the saddle before it could get any ideas about taking off again. "That stuff is for people only. I'm done playing rodeo, got it?" The animal made a snuffling noise, but obediently turned away from the barrel when John tugged on the reins.

Wick pulled up beside him, holding the reins of both pack animals in his left hand and those of his mount in his right. He grinned at John. "The meeting hall is just a little further ahead, Colonel. I will guide the others, you just focus on Rudolph."

"Gladly," Sheppard said and urged the animal up to a slightly faster speed than before. The rain was really starting to come down now, and it wasn't a summer rain. By the time they reached the meeting hall, his pants and those parts of his uniform jacket not covered by his tac vest were soaked through. Wick was no better off, his shoulder-length red hair and goatee limp and dripping water as they dismounted and tied their animals to posts on the large covered wooden deck that served as the meeting hall's porch.

"Come, it is likely that most of the youth are already inside."

"Most? How big is this place?" Sheppard asked. He curiously followed Wick inside and found that 'big' didn't even begin to describe the structure. It had looked fairly large from the outside, covering what John would consider about a third of a city block in San Francisco, but it was at least twice that size on the inside, as there was another level below ground, perhaps more.

"This level is for socializing, and is where any official district meetings take place," Wick explained. "It is also where any other city district's officials come if they wish to trade. The two lower levels house the liquor production facilities. As you may have gathered, we are going to have to be a bit more…assertive…to accomplish our task in this place."

"I'll say. No one seems to notice or care that we're here." John glanced around the main level, which was essentially a single huge room with a bar stretching the length of one wall. Young and old alike sat at the bar, and three bartenders appeared to be serving anyone tall enough to place an order. Scattered haphazardly across the rest of the level were tables, chairs, tattered sofas, and even a fireplace off in one corner. People were everywhere, some holding cheerful conversations while others sat in drunken stupors. The only outward sign of illness was the coughing, which Beckett said was a symptom that would appear early on and progressively worsen. Even that would've been relatively inconspicuous had these people been smokers.

"This district's population lives with clouded minds and they tend not to share the daily worries of the rest of society. The end will take them easier for that, but we still must help who we can. The supply of serum is being stored in the corner room behind the bar. I suggest we split our efforts to make the most of our time."

"I'll start up here and then join you on the lower levels."

"Very well. Take your supply as you need it from the room. Everyone knows our purpose, even if they don't make an effort to seek us out."

Wick and Sheppard hurried across and began unpacking the serum. Each man took two large cases of prepared injections along with several pairs of gloves and then headed in opposite directions to begin their work. John wasn't sure where to start, but finally chose the corner by the fireplace, figuring he might as well dry off a little in the process.

A group of teenagers occupied the seats nearest the blaze and a table in the midst of them was cluttered with beer bottles and shot glasses. They were all very obviously plastered, but good-natured, and it reminded Sheppard of a couple of parties he'd managed to attend in high school under his parents' radar. The boys offered him drinks, which he declined, and one of the girls kept trying to shove a small shiny object in his face while grinning at him and giggling. John finally noticed that the object was a mirror and accepted it for a moment when he realized what she was getting at. His face was still smudged with dirt from his less-than-graceful dismount and dried blood resided on his scraped cheek. His hair…well, he was just glad Rodney wasn't there to comment. John's sleeve was still damp enough that he managed to wipe away the majority of the blood and at least some of the dirt, and he returned the girl's mirror, thanking her. He couldn't go around looking like some sort of deranged madman if he expected young children to trust him to stick them with needles. Thankfully, the teenagers seemed to be very agreeable and just shrugged when he told them why he was there and sat still while he did what he had to do.

John couldn't say the same for the group of ten-year-olds he ended up chasing down the stairs and then practically playing hide and seek with on the first sub-level. Luckily he had managed to round up several fairly-sober volunteers to help with the serum, so the chase hadn't cost him much in terms of time. He had been out of breath, but the kids had finally let him administer the serum.

Lugging the last case of the drug down to the bottom level, John glanced at his watch timer. They had started working over three hours ago, which meant that they'd been in this district for a good two. He was wondering if they were going to make it on schedule when he reached his destination to find Wick attempting to convince five very young children that they needed the serum. They didn't seem convinced, and Wick looked frustrated, as if he'd been at it for a while.

"Problems?"

"You could say that." Wick sighed in frustration and stood up. "These are the last that require the serum, but they are frightened. I am not sure if it is me they are scared of or the injection, but their fear has prevailed over reason."

"Yeah, well, kids tend to be that way. Want me to give it a try? I think I've learned a thing or two in the past couple of hours."

"Please. I am curious to see what you may accomplish that I have not, Colonel."

John took over the chair that Wick had been using and looked at the kids. They stared back at him, their eyes wide. Some were trembling with fear. Two of them were crying, and obviously tried to hide that fact by looking away when he made eye contact with them. Sheppard turned and glared over his shoulder at Wick. "What the hell did you say to them? They're acting like they think I'm going to beat them up or something!" he hissed.

"I…I told them the injection might hurt, but that they needed it nevertheless."

"And what else?"

Wick looked embarrassed. "I mentioned that they would die if they didn't allow me to administer the serum. In hindsight, my phrasing was rather poorly chosen. I apologize, sir. I have not had much experience with children."

"Me neither, but I know better than to say something like _that_!" The Mage reminded John of Elizabeth, and sometimes Wick reminded him a little too much of Rodney. His mind was churning for some sort of reassuring comment as he turned back to the children and put on his best smile. "I'm sorry you've had to deal with Wick here. I know he's kinda scary, but that's just because he doesn't speak our language very well. He's really a good guy and he's learning. What he was trying to say is that this injection will make you feel good and help you live for a long time. Those are both good things, right?"

John waited, holding his breath until one of the children nodded and the others imitated. "There's just one problem though," he continued cautiously, making up the story as he went. "To make sure we give you just the right amount, the injection is designed to pinch you when you've had enough. Now, when it pinches you, you'll need to pinch Wick so he can tell me to stop, okay? Would you like to give it a try?"

The children nodded more readily this time, and one or two of them even smiled. John smiled back. "Good. Wick's going to come over and sit next to you while I give you the injection. Just remember to pinch his arm when you feel a pinch and he'll tell me to stop, okay?"

Much to John's surprise, all the children seemed to be on-board with the idea. He figured it had to be the prospect of getting back at Wick for scaring them, but hey, if that's all it took to get them on their way then so be it. John was further impressed when the children formed a line and waited patiently while he prepared the injections. He took a moment to glance at Wick, who stood gaping at him, astonished. John gestured for him to move closer to the first child so they could begin.

"Well you did sort of deserve it," John told Wick as they trudged up the stairs several minutes later.

"I just did not realize that small children possessed so much strength in their hands…or so much gullibility." Wick was looking at his forearm which was a bright shade of red, and actually beginning to turn black and blue in places.

"Just be happy they fell for it. Now we can get out of here."

"Perhaps we should reconsider that option and take a moment to eat before we go."

"Now you really sound like Rodney!" John grumbled.

"And Rodney is quite smart, is he not?" Wick asked from the top of the stairs, waiting for Sheppard to join him. "I only make this suggestion due to the storm."

John took one look out the window at the sheets of rain coming down, and the lightning, and had to concur. He and Wick collected their packs from the storage room and found an unoccupied table. Unfortunately, things weren't looking much better fifteen minutes and two MREs later. "Just how long did McKay say this storm was supposed to last again?"

"He suspects the entire storm system should work its way through the area by tomorrow, but it's hard to tell how long the periods of rain may last."

"Figures I forgot to pack my raincoat," Sheppard muttered. He stood and strapped on his pack. "Oh well, it's only water. Shall we?"

* * *

_Only_ water? Sheppard wasn't quite sure what he'd been thinking when he said that, but he had sorely tempted fate (and Murphy's Law) in the process. Now, just over seven hours into his quest to save the children of the Hadrah, fate seemed to be catching up. He had been bucked off of Rudolph in the district of the happy drunks, and had fallen off again when the animal lost its footing in the aftermath of a mudslide in the third district. That wonderful incident had added a twisted ankle and a bump on the head to his woes, though the ever-present rainstorm had shortly washed away most of the mud. To make matters worse, they received word that Sandrin had taken ill, requiring Wick to leave and investigate reports of a possible Rah'jien presence in the sixth district.

So there John was, hungry, soaking wet, ankle and head throbbing, muscles aching, riding a reindeer and leading another toward the low wall that marked the entrance to the fourth district. He kept his eyes peeled for any sign of trouble, but so far no one had resisted their passage. Sheppard hoped this district would be equally friendly. Wick had said they were a fairly religious bunch, after all.

Guiding the animals through the wide opening in the wall, the colonel again noticed a conspicuous lack of guards or patrols, and had moved maybe half a block down the main roadway when he began to sense that something was wrong. He wanted to pass off the uneasy feeling as mere anxiety about being suddenly alone in this monumental task, during a thunderstorm no less, but years of bad experiences were screaming to him that there was more to it.

Sheppard glanced briefly at the supply-reindeer when it let out an odd yelping snort, but somehow didn't register the popping of gunfire until the creature fell to the ground in a heap and lay still. Instinctively ducking, John let go of the now useless set of reins and urged Rudolph into a faster gait as bullets began peppering the mud below. He was forced to pull up short when he reached an intersection, however, and found himself blocked by a wall of people.

The line fanned out to flank him on all sides, and John carefully undid the fastener on his thigh holster under the pretense of scratching his leg so as not to agitate anyone further. He was about to ask what was going on when one of the men standing before him stepped forward, rifle resting loose, but ready, in his hands. "You ride a mount of the Royal Guard, but you do so without skill. You are not one of their men. It would be well advisable to explain your presence in this Holy District."

John held up his hands and smiled. "All right, no need to get worked up. My name is Lieutenant Colonel John Sheppard. I'm here on behalf of the Mage to deliver medicine. Duke Sandrin or one of his men should have already stopped by to inform you of what's going on."

"Duke Sandrin mentioned something to that effect, but he did not tell us of you. Sir Rhoi was to come to us personally."

"I've been helping Wick…Sir Rhoi…to distribute the medication. Just recently, though, it was brought to our attention that Duke Sandrin isn't well. Sir Rhoi's presence was required elsewhere, but I've been authorized to continue on without him."

"Lies!" screamed a woman, pushing her way forward through the crowd. "You come to poison our children! You do not follow the teachings of Drela!" The woman withdrew something from inside her robes and pitched it at John.

Dodging to the side as much as was possible without falling off Rudolph yet again, John managed to deflect the small, hard object with his shoulder. He wasn't prepared for the cascade of rock-like things that came at him from all sides, some larger than others, but all of them smarting. "Ow! Dammit! Look…ow! I'm not here to poison anyone!" This must have been what Carson meant by heightened levels of paranoia. John covered his head protectively with his arms, feeling the sting of at least ten more of the items hitting him before the crowd seemed to take notice that he wasn't dying or bursting into flames…whatever they'd been expecting to happen.

Cautiously uncovering his face, John saw an object about the size of an egg, and roughly the same shape, caught between his leg and the saddle. He peered at it for a moment. It seemed to be made of wood, and an eye was carved in the center, surrounded by tentacles or flowing hair. John really wasn't sure which, nor did he care. Turning it over, he hissed as his thumb brushed across a razor-sharp seam that bisected the egg lengthwise. A thin line of blood now decorated his skin, and he went about handling the object more carefully.

"Would someone please explain why you feel the need to throw these at me?" Sheppard asked, holding up the trinket. He noticed that several people in the crowd still held carvings of different sizes and materials, but all of the objects were of the same egg-shaped eye design.

After a few tense moments, the man with the rifle took another step forward and spoke. "I apologize for our doubt, Colonel. You have our consent to go about your task. I'm afraid you must do so outside of our Sacred Places, however. We acknowledge that you are not an evildoer, but equally you do not share our beliefs and must not disturb those grounds."

"That's fine, I'll just need several volunteers to help administer the serum…and to help me move the supplies." John tried to keep the annoyance out of his voice, but wasn't at all sure he'd succeeded. People who went around shooting first and asking questions later ranked somewhere just below hungry Wraith and the Genii on his short list. Add in the fact that so far they seemed more like religious fanatics than God-fearing citizens, and these people might actually end up _above_ Ladon Radim and some of the less-hostile Genii.

Rifle Man nodded once and gestured to someone in the crowd. Soon, three larger men came forward and went about unloading the supplies from the deceased animal. The idea came unbidden to John's mind that this portion of the Hadrah would definitely be on the naughty list for shooting a reindeer if there was a Pegasus Galaxy Santa Claus. Shaking off the thought, and refusing to consider the fact that he'd just rated them on his own version of a naughty list, John followed the crowd of people further into the district, still astride Rudolph…the reindeer…whatever.

Sheppard and his small group of volunteers set up shop just outside of the district meeting hall which, not surprisingly, was one of their Sacred Places. Almost every place was. Even the houses looked like wannabe churches. Thankfully the rain had stopped, though an occasional rumble of thunder could still be heard and the sky had only lightened marginally. John wasn't sure whether the gloom of the day was affecting his perception, but as he administered dose after dose of the serum, he noticed that the people seemed much sicker here than in any of the previous districts. It was mainly the adults at first, coughing more, and a few of them stumbled as they guided their children along. After a hundred or so, he realized that the children were also looking ill. Their faces were flushed and he could feel heat spilling off of them as he gave the injections.

How did Beckett do things like this day in and day out? The sight of these people was deeply unsettling, even though Sheppard knew he was immune to their ailment. Or perhaps being immune was the very reason _why_ it was so disturbing. He didn't even have any way of being sure he was helping. They hadn't had a chance to test the serum's effectiveness. For all he knew, he was administering a placebo.

John felt a tug on the hem of his jacket and looked down to find that the last child he had given the serum to was still standing there. "You should take the medicine also, sir. You don't look well, and you are bleeding," the child said quietly.

Sheppard gave the boy a tired grin. "Don't worry about me, kiddo. I've just had a really long day. You go with your sisters, I'll be fine." Before moving on, the child gave him a _yeah, right_ look that reminded the colonel suspiciously of a very young Carson. Curiosity piqued, John gave himself a quick once-over and became aware of several places where his jacket sleeves were slashed through. The skin beneath was lacerated as well, deep enough to draw blood in several instances. Apparently all of those carvings had possessed sharp edges similar to the one his thumb had encountered. The kid was observant, John would give him that. He hadn't noticed the cuts before, or the fact that his stomach was growling, but the throngs of people still before him didn't seem to indicate a meal break anytime soon. He sighed and grabbed another box of injectors.

Forty minutes later, however, his stomach was not to be denied. Digging a power bar out of his pocket, John downed it in three bites while finishing with the rest of his group. He then limped around to the other lines, using up the rest of his supply, but when all was said and done there were still doses left over. Taking half the surplus and leaving half for anyone they might have missed, as had been the plan for population over-estimates, John stowed everything in his pack.

A glance at his watch showed that he was now ten hours in, which left him roughly nine hours to find Rodney and get the serum to the second half of the city. He still wasn't quite sure why McKay couldn't find his own way back to the palace, but if there were indeed Rah'jien militants in the area then John would feel better knowing Rodney was with him. Sheppard bid farewell to the followers of Drela and set off down the road that his map told him led to district five.

* * *

If the district of the happy drunks had been an old west saloon, then the fifth district was definitely the rest of the Wild West. Emphasis on wild. Gusts of wind were whipping at the canvas sheeting that covered the windows of roughly-hewn wooden buildings, and the Hadran version of a cattle herd was wandering loose as John steered Rudolph down the central corridor of the district. He soon arrived at the place where the meeting hall should have been, assuming this section followed the layout of the other districts. What he found instead was a large barn surrounded by an empty corral, its gate wide open. He supposed that explained the wandering herd.

John rode Rudolph toward the barn, watching the rapidly darkening sky with mild trepidation. "So much for passing storms, McKay," he grumbled and then turned his attention to finding the people that supposedly lived here. So far there was no sign of anyone. He thought he heard movement from within the barn, but it was impossible to be sure. Perhaps everyone had taken shelter there during the previous storms? Cautiously, Sheppard gripped the handle of the door and pulled it open. Rudolph obediently stepped back with the direction of the motion. They moved forward again and John peered inside the structure, trying to make sense of the shapes and shadows. He heard what sounded like the snort of a large animal, and Rudolph stomped at the ground nervously just before the sky lit up and all hell broke loose.

The thunder that followed may as well have been a gunshot for the effect it had. Rudolph was off like a flash, though this time John managed not to fall. He pulled up on the reins, thinking that this was a repeat of earlier events, but quickly realized that Rudolph wasn't slowing. Sheppard then noticed the reason why. He could hear the furious staccato of hooves against the ground. Many, many hooves. John risked a glance over his shoulder and muttered, "Oh shit." Cattle were pouring out of the barn, trampling one another in their haste, scattering in every direction as soon as they cleared the doorway.

Rudolph was making for the corral gate, which was a good plan in theory, but the cattle were literally running scared. Another crack sounded from the sky and the animals' pace only increased. John judged the distance remaining to the gate and the speed at which the herd was approaching from behind. There was a slim chance they would make it out before the herd reached them, but even then the fence didn't look like it was up to withstanding a full-scale stampede, so unless they could get far enough away before the fence went…

Sheppard faced forward once more, seeing that a few of the faster animals were already drawing even with them, when out of nowhere Rudolph lurched to the right. John overbalanced and suddenly found himself airborne, going in the opposite direction. The ground rushed toward him, but the impact seemed slow and almost surreal. His left shoulder took the brunt of the collision and John felt the bone of his upper arm slip forward out of its socket, then the rest of his body hit the ground and momentum carried him onto his back where pain caught up with him full force and he fought with the agony for enough air to cry out.

Something bashed into his left hip, lifting him at the same time, and a whimper escaped as his lungs still didn't possess enough air for a full-out scream. The force of the hit rolled him further, onto his right side and nearly over onto his stomach, but his chest came into contact with something solid and moving that reversed his motion and flipped him back again. The unyielding mass became a heavy, shifting weight across his torso and anguish consumed him once more as the weight pressed into his injured arm. John felt the _thunk_ when his shoulder popped back into place, and this time he did scream. Things were hazy after that, and he was faintly aware of being pummeled some more before darkness finally overtook him.

* * *

John fully expected to wake up flatter than a pancake and/or trampled to a pulp. What he didn't expect were the earthy scents that wafted over him, the comfortable though slightly lumpy surface beneath his back, or the squirrel sitting on his stomach. Seriously? A squirrel? John closed his eyes for several seconds, then took another look. The creature was still there. Reddish fur, check. Fluffy tail and rodent-like body, check. It turned its head to face him and John jumped. Long, fang-like buckteeth, check. Okay…not a squirrel then.

"Do not fear. It is just an uklalk."

Startled by the voice near his head, Sheppard jumped again, grunting as his shoulder was jostled by the movement. "What's a...uklalk?"

"This one is a pet. Their teeth look fearsome, but they are harmless creatures." The owner of the voice reached forward and removed the animal from Sheppard's belly.

"Good to know. Where am I?" John asked, focusing on the pinpoints of dim light high above. The structure they were in was fairly dark, and aside from a warm, muted glow coming from somewhere to his right, the bits of light showing through the roof were the only illumination.

"You are inside the Great Shelter, sir. My husband Yan and I found you after the herd escaped and brought you here. We feared you were gravely hurt, as this is the first you have woken."

John wondered how much time had passed and tried to get a look at his watch, a task that proved to be rather difficult without moving his shoulder. Finally, he just resigned himself to the pain and used his right hand to pull his left wrist closer, sighing in relief that only half an hour had gone by. He managed to scoot into a halfway-sitting position and saw that he was in a wagon lined with some sort of cargo wrapped in burlap sacks.

"You should not move your arm. Yan is casting about for something to bind it with. Oh, and forgive my oversight, sir, I am Anamei."

"John Sheppard. Pleased to meet you, Anamei." He smiled at the young woman seated across from him. If he was to venture a guess, she was probably around Wick's age. "I need to ask, do you know where the rest of the people of this district are? I'm sure you've heard by now what's happening."

"Yes, and I know where the others are. You were sent to cure us?"

"That's right, but there isn't a lot of time so I need to get started as soon as possible."

"The others are miles away, John. They have gone into the hills, where some believe themselves to be safe from the attack. Yan and I do not believe there is any place of refuge, so we offered to stay behind as sentinels, watching for help or warning of enemies. The containers of serum were delivered some time ago and are secure with the people. We shall take you there as soon as Yan returns."

John shook his head. "There's not enough time, Anamei. I need to get the serum to the other three districts within the next eight hours. If I show you and Yan how to administer the shots, will you be able to give them to the others before then?"

"We will manage. Our people are perhaps an hour's journey from here," said Yan, as he climbed into the back of the wagon. He had returned in time for Sheppard's explanation and was carrying John's pack as well as an odd-looking contraption fashioned out of leather straps, which he gestured to. "If you will allow me, sir, I think this will adequately stabilize your shoulder until you can have it seen to by a healer."

John eyed the device for a moment before nodding. "Thanks." He let Anamei and Yan ease him forward, wincing as the motion triggered new aches almost everywhere in his body. He felt like one big bruise. Anamei went about re-fastening his vest, and then Yan was slipping the homemade apparatus around him. John had to clench his jaw to keep from crying out when Yan slowly guided his arm into the makeshift sling and adjusted the straps minutely.

"My apologies for causing you pain, sir," Yan said, lowering John back to his semi-reclining position.

"Not your fault. And please, call me John." He had yet to get used to the formal way of speaking that seemed so common to the Hadrah.

Yan nodded. "Very well."

"Did you locate John's kraelak?" Anamei asked her husband.

"My what?"

"The animal you were riding," Yan clarified. "I could not find it, but it likely is with the rest of the herd. When we go to collect them, we will have it returned to you. Now, if you will show us how to give the serum, Anamei and I will take you as far as the next district's border before we return to aid our people."

"Of course, but you should go right away. I can walk to the next district, it's not that far."

"Do not talk nonsense," Anamei scolded. "You lay unconscious for two quarters, and if you are to do as much as you say in the next hours, you need to conserve what strength you have. It is the least we can do in exchange for your help."

John decided he didn't really feel up to arguing and proceeded to give the couple a crash course in administering injections, letting them practice on each other. "Our doctor didn't have a chance to determine exactly what age is the cut-off for effectiveness, so we've been giving the serum to the very young first. Unless you have extra doses left at the end, don't give it to anyone older than yourselves. It's unlikely to have any effect on that age group."

"We understand. If you are ready, sir, I will prepare our kraelaks so that we may go." At John's nod, Yan crossed to the other side of the barn to harness the animals.

* * *

John zoned out sometime during the journey to the sixth district. It seemed as though only seconds had passed since leaving the barn when he felt Anamei gently shaking him and telling him they'd reached his destination. He blinked up at her in confusion for a moment before realizing that he needed to get out of the wagon so she and Yan could be on their way.

Shaking off the lethargy as best he could, Sheppard scooted to the back of the wagon and climbed down, grateful for Yan's assistance when his feet touching the ground coincided with a massive head rush. "Are you certain you should continue on by yourself?" the Hadrah asked, frowning as he steadied the slightly swaying man.

"I'm fine, I just got up too fast," John replied automatically, then paused and turned to look at the young couple. "Thanks for everything, both of you. I'd probably still be out there in the mud if you two hadn't come along."

Yan and Sheppard nodded to each other. Anamei grinned at him and the vampire squirrel poked its head out from beneath the collar of her jacket. "Be safe, John, and know that you have our people's gratitude for your efforts."

"Will do. Thanks again." With Yan's help John slung his pack over his good shoulder and awkwardly looped the other strap through a clip on his vest, hoping to prevent the pack from slipping off while he was on the move. Waving to the couple, he started toward the border wall. This wall was constructed of clay bricks that were covered in random patterns by dark green vines. Unlike the broad entrance to the fourth district, the only opening to what lay beyond this wall was a single rectangular passage just large enough for one average-sized person to fit through. Also, there were the reports of a potential Rah'jien presence to consider. Going in unprepared would only be asking for trouble, so Sheppard readied his P-90 before stepping through the passage. The positioning of the sling allowed him just enough range of motion with his left arm to steady the weapon when it was held straight in front of him, but he knew he would be firing one-handed if it came down to raising the gun more than a few inches.

The colonel had gone half a block down the insanely narrow road he'd come across on the other side of the wall when he encountered the first body. 'Shot to hell' wasn't an adequate description of the sight before him and John's earlier bout of fatigue evaporated in a surge of adrenaline. He gripped the P-90 firmly and cautiously made his way forward, the walls of adobe-like structures stretching two stories above him on either side like maze walls.

The first intersection he came upon branched in four directions, though one of those paths was a slender alleyway that appeared to dead-end several meters in. John stepped to the opening and listened for a moment, then risked switching on his light so he could see into the shadows. He managed to startle a small animal, but otherwise the walkway seemed vacant. That is, until his light fell across a half-open door. Two children were sprawled in the gap between the door and the frame, the red trickle on the ground saying all that needed to be said.

A hand clamped down on his injured shoulder and John instinctively whirled around, new adrenaline masking the pain that flared through his arm. His finger tensed on the trigger and then relaxed when he recognized the newcomer. "Dammit, Wick! Are you trying to get shot?" Sheppard hissed, lowering the P-90.

"One need not try exceptionally hard today, sir. Come, you must not stay here." Noticing the sling, Wick grabbed Sheppard's good arm and hurriedly steered him around so that they were both walking down the leftmost branch of the roadway.

"Why? What's going on?"

"The reports of Rah'jien militants in this district were not unwarranted. Somehow, we assume through use of spies, they learned of what you and I had set out to do. As of yet, we have not been able to question those alien _ki-wa_ for long enough to determine whether this massacre has any purpose other than to finish once and for all what they had thought already accomplished with Tier Two."

John found it interesting that the Hadrah referred to the Rah'jien as alien, due only to the fact that they possessed genetic differences allowing them to withstand the viral weapons they produced. He would have smirked at the Hadran curse under any other circumstances, too. Wick had once explained its full and slightly humorous meaning to him, but _ki-wa_ was particularly derogatory when used in reference to the Rah'jien, and not at all funny. "Are there more of them waiting in the wings to ambush the other districts?" he asked.

"We don't believe so, but all able members of the Royal Guard that remain have been dispatched on patrols throughout the city in the case that our information is flawed. You must leave, sir," Wick repeated. "If they have any other intention than killing the people of this city, it would be to kill us who tried to hinder their progress." While the two men conversed quietly, Wick had been leading them back toward the district wall. He nudged Sheppard through the narrow opening into district five and then followed, indicating that they should turn right, moving toward the outer wall of the city.

"Wait. What about the serum?" Sheppard asked slowly, dreading the answer.

Wick shook his head, eyes to the ground, and John felt as though he'd been punched when Rhoi finally spoke, "There are not enough young left in this district to risk yourself. You must move on and help the others, find Dr. McKay, and return to the palace."

"And the Rah'jien?" Sheppard questioned. "You say you don't think there are more of them out there. Does that mean that you think this group was just going to move on to the other districts and keep killing after they finished here or after you and I were dead? And if that's the case, how are you going to ensure that that still doesn't happen when most of your military are sick and the rest are spread among the other districts?" After more than a month of being involved extensively in providing various forms of aid to the Hadrah, both military and otherwise, Sheppard still didn't fully understand the nature of the two peoples' feud. He especially couldn't fathom the Hadrah's apparent lack of worry about military infiltration by their enemy.

"My men and I have the Rah'jien at a disadvantage, Colonel. We have laid a trap for them. It will only be a short time and this group, at least, will no longer threaten our protectorate. As for the other Rah'jien, they already have their vindication, or so they think, and will likely not seek confrontation again for many seasons."

Wick's explanation had done little to further his understanding, and John desperately wanted to ask how his friend could be so sure that eliminating this one group of Rah'jien would do the trick, but held back the inquiry. Wick obviously understood the intricacies of the conflict well and it wasn't John's place to question his methods, however odd they seemed.

"Where are we going?" he asked instead, looking around curiously.

"My kraelak is tied outside the city wall of the sixth district. You may take it and continue on. I will assist you with the remainder of the serum after this conflict is settled."

They walked on for a few more moments before John stopped and quirked an eyebrow at Wick. "Don't you need to go settle it?"

"My men know what is to be done. I will return to supervise when you are safely on your way."

John frowned. "I don't need a babysitter, Wick. Go on and supervise."

"Colonel, due respect, but you look like hell. The Mage would not find it favorable that I left you in such a way."

"I won't tell if you won't," John said, though he knew the effort was pointless. Wick was just as stubborn as he was, and if their roles were reversed, he knew he would've done the same. He also knew that Wick's statement was true. All potential outcomes of this day carried a cost, and every possible force of nature and creature beating him down (save for the vampire squirrel) seemed to be John's entitled share of that price. Small wonder that it was beginning to show.

Sheppard took a long drink from his canteen and continued to limp along, lamenting the fact that passing out for an hour or so wasn't an option. He glanced at his watch, twelve hours in, which meant at least seven more to go. Looking straight ahead, he found that the city wall was visible in the distance, but he estimated it was still a mile and a half away. John took another step and cursed softly when his right foot hit uneven ground and his ankle nearly gave way.

Wick lunged forward when he saw Sheppard stumble and grabbed onto the colonel's arm to steady him. "I see you are still feeling that second dismount from Rudolph," he said.

"Yeah, not to mention the first, and the third," John muttered, straightening. Before he could say more, Wick had pulled his good arm over his shoulders and started them moving again at a slightly slower pace, wrapping one arm around Sheppard's waist. John wanted to protest that he wasn't an invalid but the support, however awkward, was managing to lessen the strain on his bad ankle. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that this was probably necessary if he planned on using the ankle to walk any distance in the near future.

Forty minutes, three miles, and one recap of the stampede later, and Sheppard had never been so glad to see an alien reindeer in his life. Said reindeer meant no more walking, which sounded like a little slice of heaven to John. He had been leaning heavily on Wick for the past mile or so, which concerned him a little. Sure, he'd been walking, riding, or impersonating Beckett for the past thirteen hours with few breaks, but that and some bruises shouldn't make him this tired, should they?

"Colonel? Are you certain you do not wish me to accompany you onward?" Wick asked, looking at John worriedly. The colonel was pale and sweating and had made no effort to move away from his support, even though they had reached the place where the kraelak was tied. "Sir?"

John realized that Wick was talking to him, but it still took a moment to muster enough strength to answer in the negative, retrieve his arm, and resume standing on his own. He made his way over to the kraelak, hoping his knees weren't actually wobbling as much as they seemed to be, and slipped off his pack. Wick followed, taking the pack from him and securing it to the animal.

"If you are sure, I will return to the conflict and rejoin you at my earliest convenience then." Wick still looked skeptical, and opened his mouth to try one more time to reason with the colonel, but was interrupted by a bout of coughing. His own.

Sheppard narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the younger man. "Have you taken the serum yet?" he asked when his friend had gotten his breathing under control.

Wick dismissed the question with a wave of his hand. "You know there has been no time for this, Colonel."

"Well, you're making time now."

"I've already made my position on this matter clear to you, sir. That position has not changed."

"Maybe not," said John, rifling through his pack and coming up with an injector, "but since you insist on calling me sir all the time, I'm making it an order." He stepped away from the kraelak, his shakiness momentarily forgotten.

"You cannot do so, as you have pointed out to me on numerous occasions," Wick replied calmly, his face remaining unreadable, and he actually took a couple of steps back as John advanced on him with the serum.

"This is part of the surplus from the other districts, and unfortunately you and I both know there's no risk of a shortage now, except for a shortage of time and my patience. Just take the damn shot so we can get moving." John glared at Wick, in no mood to argue further. Wick frowned back, as if pondering something, but finally stepped within Sheppard's reach and allowed him to administer the injection.

"Are you quite satisfied now, Colonel?" Wick asked, just a tad petulantly.

"Very." Sheppard nodded. "Now go and finish trapping the Rah'jien. I'm too tired to deal with 25,000 more kids on my own, plus McKay."

"Have you heard from him yet?"

"No, but I picked up his transmitter signal a while ago. He's somewhere in the seventh district, probably driving the general populace mad."

Wick cringed, though it was with amusement. "Indeed. Be safe, sir. I will see you in three hours' time, or less, should circumstance allow."

"See you then." Sheppard said, but Wick was already jogging away.

* * *

Holding onto the LSD while simultaneously gripping the reins in the same hand was a trick, and one that Sheppard was not mastering well. When he had nearly dropped the LSD for the fourth time, he drew Iggy to a halt. John had refused to go with Blitzen or any other name that would carry Beckett's joke further. Enough was enough. He set down the reins, hoped that Iggy would stay still, and began trying to wedge the LSD in between the straps of the sling so that he could still see it. He gave the device a couple of nudges and, satisfied it would stay in place, picked up the reins and turned the reindeer toward the center of the district.

Several minutes later, John was thinking that the people of this city didn't stay isolated in their own districts as much as he'd been led to believe by Sandrin and the Mage. He was fairly certain that his LSD was functioning as it was supposed to, yet he was picking up only a few scattered life signs. Unfortunately, none of them matched the signal from McKay's transmitter. Sighing, he decided he'd just have to look for Rodney later, and made for the seventh district's meeting hall, figuring that most of the population was already there, their life signs somehow being shielded from detection.

Upon exiting the gigantic stone structure, John was baffled. Not one person was present, inside or out. For good measure, he limped to the middle of the main road and slowly turned a complete circle, looking in every direction, but even the LSD now agreed that he and Iggy were the only ones in the area. Having taken an extra case of the serum from the meeting hall, just in case he found anyone, John shoved it in his pack and climbed back onto the kraelak. He'd just have to do this the old-fashioned way, by starting at one end and working his way to the other.

Neither John nor his LSD noticed two men in dark clothing emerge from a nearby building and hurry after him as he rode away.

* * *

Screw the old-fashioned way. He was annoyed, sore, and absolutely did not have the patience to be searching for Dr. Needle McKay in the convoluted haystack that was the seventh district. Especially not in the rain, which was entirely McKay's fault too as far as he was concerned.

John slid down from Iggy's back once again, and guided the kraelak partway into a narrow alley. He really needed to take a leak, and figured he probably shouldn't do so in the middle of the street, even if this district was a veritable ghost town at the moment. Sheppard moved deeper into the alley to attain as much privacy as possible, and quickly attended to business. He zipped his pants, then tapped his radio. "McKay, this is Sheppard. Come in."

No response. He tried again, "McKay, I'm kind of in a hurry here."

There was popping and static over the frequency, but Rodney's voice was suddenly yelling in his ear. "Sheppard! Thank God! I was ju—"

"Say again, Rodney. You're breaking up."

"—so screwed! They're going to kill me!" McKay's frantic voice cut off in another burst of static.

"Where are you McKay? What's going on?" Sheppard demanded, beginning to get concerned.

"Hurry, Colonel! Oh no, no, no, no, I am so completely and utterly dead!" McKay squeaked, his voice about three octaves north of normal.

Sheppard heard a loud bang over the radio and what sounded like massive amounts of glass shattering, then the noise and the static both abruptly cut off. A hundred different questions were whirling through John's mind as he rushed back down the alley. Had McKay gotten into a disagreement with some of his native colleagues? Were the Rah'jien in this district as well? Why hadn't McKay answered about where he was? Had that been a gunshot he'd heard? Or an explosion?

His mind was moving so fast it was making his head spin, and the alley was following suit. Why were there suddenly two of Iggy staring at him? "Shit, not now," Sheppard moaned. He reached out to the wall to catch himself as he staggered against it, but it didn't do much good. His head throbbed, his vision swam, and he was certain his knees were shaking this time. Desperation kept him upright for a couple steps more, before an odd numbness washed over him. As his vision darkened, he silently apologized to Rodney.

* * *

John awoke gasping for air, and it took him five full seconds to realize that his difficulty breathing stemmed from the two hands wrapped around his throat. A meaty thumb was pressing painfully into his windpipe. His blurry vision focused on a face concealed by a black mask, inches from his own, and that's when his survival instinct kicked in. The trouble was that it was exceedingly difficult to use only one hand to pry two hands off of your throat while fighting dizziness and lack of oxygen.

When his feeble attempts to pull away had no measurable effect either, Sheppard put all his focus back into trying things the old-fashioned way, because, after all, that had done him _so_ much good earlier. John stopped fighting just long enough for the masked man to relax his elbows slightly, then head-butted him with everything he had.

The impact made John's already pounding head want to eject itself from his body, but the pained cry and the sound of his attacker thudding to the ground were worth the headache…worth it, that is, until another set of hands, stronger than the first, closed around his neck. Hot, smelly breath assaulted his face, and a voice growled, "This is the consequence for defiance of the Rah'jien! You will not transgress a second time!"

John gagged and clawed at the hands once more with weak fingers as his air supply was completely cut off. His vision was darkening when, through the thrumming in his ears, a different short staccato sounded. The pressure let up for a moment before a weight crashed into him, making it difficult to breathe even though there was no longer a vice squeezing his throat. Then the weight was also gone and he gasped and choked in his rush to gulp in precious air.

It felt like days before he possessed the energy to do anything other than breathe in and breathe out, but slowly John became aware that he was not alone. Panic surged, and he forced heavy eyelids open, while at the same time trying to scramble away. Hands gripped him firmly, but this time by his arms, and he tried to focus. The blurred features before him seemed vaguely familiar and the voice was reassuring.

"Take it easy, sir. You're safe now."

John blinked in an attempt to clear his vision. "Lorne?" he croaked.

"Yes, sir. Are you all right?"

"Peachy," Sheppard rasped, eyeing the two black-clad figures lying dead a few feet away courtesy of Lorne's P-90. Satisfied that the immediate danger was over, he looked at his watch. "You weren't due back for a few hours yet," he observed, coughing again as his 2IC helped him to sit up against the wall.

"Here, drink this," Lorne instructed, guiding a canteen to John's lips before answering the unasked question. "I finished gathering the supplies Dr. Beckett requested and decided to come back early. I was told you could probably use some help out here, so I came to see what I could do. Looks like it's a good thing I did."

The colonel took a few sips and then pushed the container away, nodding his thanks, both for the water and for the backup. He started to stand, using the wall for support as his body still felt rather shaky.

"Uh, sir, maybe you should stay down for a minute? I had a look around and we're good here for now." Lorne moved closer, ready to step in should gravity suddenly get the better of Sheppard.

"There's no time, Major. Rodney's in trouble."

"What? How do you know that, sir?" Lorne looked confused. He hadn't heard any radio transmissions, and the colonel had obviously been otherwise occupied for the last several minutes.

"He told me so, right before I passed out," John said, searching the ground for his LSD before finding that it was lodged where he'd originally placed it. He switched on the device, but there was still no trace of Rodney. His and Lorne's were the only human life signs present if the LSD was working. He and his aching throat were not at all convinced that it was, though.

"Where is Dr. McKay?"

John shook his head. "I don't know. He told me someone was going to kill him and then there was a loud bang and it sounded like all the glass in Atlantis was breaking simultaneously before the transmission cut off."

"I might have an idea where he is. I thought I heard a shattering sound earlier," Lorne said, continuing to look at his CO with concern. Sheppard was leaning against the wall more than he was actually standing, and he wasn't putting weight on his right leg. "Are you going to be able to walk, Colonel?"

"Give me a hand and we'll see what happens." When Lorne still looked uncertain, John added, "That's an order, Major."

"Yes, sir, but you just leave my name out of the conversation when Doc Beckett gets on your case, okay?"

John snorted. "Your secret's safe with me, Major. Let's just find McKay and get the hell out of here. Then I can blame him."

"Sounds like a plan to me, sir." The two men grinned at each other before making their way from the alley, Lorne assuming Wick's former position of support next to John.

The rain continued to fall, and by the time they had gone a few blocks, Sheppard's hard-won uncomfortably-damp state had degenerated once more into positively-drenched. And the wind had picked up, as if it hadn't been gale-force to start with. And there was hail. Had he mentioned the hail? "Where are we going, Major?" John shouted over the wind, ducking his head to avoid being hit in the face by any more of the small ice chunks that were pelting them.

"It should be just around this corner!"

True to Lorne's word, they rounded the next turn and came upon a rather nondescript building about the size and shape of a large house…a large house with all the windows broken out of it. Lorne let go of Sheppard as they approached the door and they both readied their weapons. "Maybe you should let me make sure it's clear first, sir."

"I have a sprained ankle, Major, not a broken leg. Move it, I'm right behind you."

Lorne was wise enough not to argue and cautiously pushed the door open. The room was pitch dark, and both men switched on their lights, sweeping the chamber in wide arcs. Worn furniture filled the front half, and long tables littered with dusty lab equipment occupied the back. In a far corner, a ramp curved downward and then disappeared from sight.

Indicating the walkway, John began moving in that direction. Lorne quickly caught up and gripped his arm, signaling with a frown that he would go first. Sheppard acquiesced, though he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. They crept quietly downward, following the ramp which curved in a loose spiral that just did wonders for John's already touchy equilibrium.

The basement level of the building resembled the main floor in that more dusty gadgets cluttered the space. A dim yellow glow was coming through a doorway to their right, and John thought he could hear some rustling and clanking sounds, interspersed with quiet voices. Before Major Lorne could object further, Sheppard was limping toward the door. He stopped just outside and pressed his back to the wall, listening.

A tinny male voice was speaking, but John couldn't quite make out the words. Something started beeping frenetically, and he heard the telltale sparking sound of an electrical circuit frying before McKay's unmistakable and obviously pained voice snapped a couple of choice words. Then the real yelling started. "I have had enough of you…you, you incredibly poor excuse for an AI! Intelligence? I think not! Artificial Idiot is more like it! Stop trying to kill me!!"

The beeping continued, there was more sizzling, followed by a sudden _boom-ka-whoosh!_ John frowned. Between the lack of armed Rah'jien, the odd noise, and the puff of warm humid air that exited the room, he was very confused. Deciding that he didn't have patience for this either, he signaled to Lorne and then burst into the room, P-90 at the ready.

John couldn't believe what he was seeing. McKay stood in the center of a circular platform, surrounded by consoles, one of which was still smoldering. His hair stood on end, blobs of blue goop adorned his jacket, and with the exception of his dry hair, he looked as though he'd been out in the rain. Obviously that wasn't the case because the ceiling was intact, yet there were puddles of water on the floor, some foaming gently with more of the goop. Rodney was glaring disdainfully at the line of short, box-shaped devices that occupied the far wall, but he appeared to be unharmed.

"Rodney! What the hell? You called me down here because your mother never taught you the proper way to do laundry?!"

McKay turned, his glare fading a little when he saw John. "Oh, hey, Sheppard." Rodney then took two seconds to actually _look_ at John and the glare was back. "What happened to you?" he demanded. "You look like you could win a contest for most ghoulish complexion, Colonel Casper!"

"A better question is what happened to you, Mr. Clean? You told me on the radio that someone was trying to kill you. Where are all the bad guys?"

"What?" McKay looked genuinely confused. "Sorry to disappoint you, Colonel, but I have no idea what you're talking about." Something seemed to occur to him and he suddenly snapped his fingers, "I get it, you're hallucinating. Go see Beckett. I'm kind of busy here." He turned back to the consoles.

"I'm not hallucinating! I clearly heard you over the radio saying that people were coming to kill you. You told me to hurry, and then there was an explosion or something and the radio went dead. Any of this ringing a bell?" John paused to take a swig of water and rubbed his bruised throat.

"Oh…oh, that!" Rodney waved his hand dismissively. "Sorry, by the way, I didn't mean anything by it, I was just letting my frustration out and I didn't realize that my headset was on the table getting bumped all over the place. I certainly wasn't calling for help, though."

"McKay, since you probably have no idea what's been going on outside of this room today, I'll cut you some slack, but we really need to get going. Please just tell me what the hell you're talking about."

"Oh, I know what's going on all right!" Rodney snapped in annoyance, whirling around to face Sheppard. "They told me, then they all ran away like scared little girls and left me here with their mess!" Taking a breath, he calmed down fractionally. "I'll show you what I'm talking about, Colonel, but before you go getting all angry, remember, you did ask to hear it."

Rodney picked up a small digital recorder, searching for the correct file. "This is my experiment log," he explained. "Of course I go back through and edit it later, because sometimes I ramble, but this is more than likely what you were hearing. Keep in mind that I was under a lot of stress at the moment, and this part would definitely have been deleted." He pressed play, and his own voice sounded through the recorder's small speaker, "Dammit, Sheppard! You and your stupid heroics. Thank God I was just running simulations! But of course now since the power is overloading and I can't actually finish the tests, the simulations are pointless. I am so screwed! They're going to kill me! That is, if this doesn't kill me. You think I'm a perfectionist. These Hadrah scientists are the epitome of perfection…even if they do cut and run when the going gets tough. But that's not the point. Oh, shit, that can't be good. I'm supposed to have people here helping me with this, but noooo, all because you were in a big hurry, Colonel! Oh no, no, no, no, I am so completely and utterly dead!" The bang and shattering-glass sound came then, and McKay stopped the recording.

"You're right, Rodney, that explains a lot," John said, his expression unreadable.

McKay would have almost preferred a glare to the blank stare. Glares were easier to interpret. "What's that supposed to mean? I warned you!"

"Yes, you did, and now I'm warning you. If you're not ready to go in five minutes, Lorne and I are leaving you here permanently with your killer AI."

"We're coming back though, right? I mean, I'm certain I can make this weather machine work if I just take a few more hours and recalibrate the heuristics…"

Sheppard quirked an eyebrow at the mention of a weather machine, but he didn't ask because he knew an hour-long explanation would ensue. Sighing, he said, "I don't think they told you everything, McKay. Just get what you need and I'll explain the rest later."

Something in John's tone killed any further objections Rodney may have put forth, and he silently shut down the consoles and packed away his computers, then followed the colonel and major from the room.

* * *

With perhaps four more hours to go until their nineteen were up, Sheppard, McKay, and Lorne stood contemplating the barrier between the seventh and eighth districts. It was a very tall, very heavily-fortified cinder-block wall, with two huge steel doors set into it. Even so, they could hear a loud ruckus coming from the other side.

"Maybe they're having a party," John suggested. A sudden noise that could only be described as a war cry sounded, followed by a growl and an agonized scream.

"If by they you mean cannibals and by party you mean feast!" McKay retorted, eyes wide.

A gust of wind whipped at their backs, and John would have fallen forward if not for Lorne's firm grip on his arm. The walk from McKay's hideout to their present location hadn't been a long one, but Sheppard was good and ready for a nice long nap nevertheless. A loud metallic groan caught his wandering attention, and he looked up to see one of the doors creak open a bit.

"Do you suppose we should join the feast?" Lorne asked, noticing it too.

Rodney gulped audibly. "I vote a definite no, but since when does anyone pay attention to what I say?"

"Relax, McKay. I think the Mage or Wick would've said something about a district full of cannibals. Just stay close," Sheppard warned. He adjusted his grip on the P-90 and brought up the rear, following Lorne and McKay through the door.

Lorne was barely two feet inside the district when he stepped to the side, pulling McKay with him so their backs were against the wall. A burly man with blonde hair flew through the air where the major had previously stood and hit the ground a few feet away. Sheppard drew alongside them just in time to see a second man come barreling past, a crazed look in his eyes. The guy dove to the ground on top of the first, and the three men from Atlantis winced in tandem.

Man #2 must have had two or three inches on Ronon at least, and he was every bit as muscular. Man #1's considerable size was due to fat more than muscle and he struggled pathetically, but lay still after taking one fist to the nose. Man #2 immediately began rooting through Man #1's pockets and apparently found what he was looking for because after stuffing the object (whatever it was) into his coat, he stood and ran off.

"Well that was wonderfully unsettling," McKay said.

"Hey, where do you suppose they're going?" Lorne asked, pointing to a throng of people hurrying away down one of the roads.

"Let's find out. After you, Rodney."

Feeling like he was an animal being led to the slaughter, McKay took up his position between Lorne and Sheppard, wishing he had his sidearm. Without it, all he could do was observe and run for cover if something bad happened. Unfortunately, with Sheppard around it was more like _when_ something bad happened. The colonel had obviously attracted his fair share of trouble already today.

As they neared what Rodney suspected was the center of the district, he saw more and more people lying unconscious or dead, in the road and nearer to the buildings. Some had obvious injuries, often bloody, and some did not. The group of individuals they were following looked off somehow too. He assumed it was because of the sickness everyone on this planet seemed to have, but Carson had assured him he was immune.

Sheppard followed close behind him, though McKay could tell he was having trouble keeping up. Their pace was a little quicker than the scientist would consider leisurely, but to the colonel who ran God knew how many miles a day for fun, this should have been a cake walk. Instead, John was breathing like he'd been jogging for hours. Rodney turned back around before the colonel could catch him staring and nearly bumped into Lorne's back.

The central square of the district lay before them, and it seemed that anarchy and chaos were the orders of the day. The meeting hall lay in ruins, and people were fighting literally tooth and nail to reach whatever was at the center of the mess. Men and women alike wielded sledgehammers and fists, clubs and feet, knives and pitchforks, anything would do.

John squinted at the melee, trying to get a sense for the order of a battle where no rules applied. Young and old warred for position. Some were obviously ill, while others appeared healthy and strong, but John knew otherwise. A cold feeling ran through the colonel when a man about his age brutally clubbed his way from within the horde of bodies, a familiar-looking case held high above him. Clicking off the safety on his P-90, Sheppard stepped forward, anger and adrenaline racing. A hand gripped his shoulder, and John turned. Lorne didn't say anything, but shook his head no.

"They're wasting the serum! It won't work for them!" Sheppard growled.

"Well it's not like we can just kill everyone who's too old," McKay put in. He held up his hands when he was suddenly on the receiving end of Sheppard's glare. "Just stating a fact."

"Dr. McKay is right, sir. Even if we did have a plausible means of non-lethal intervention, there are only three of us. We should get out of here before we get dragged in too."

John knew that Lorne was right. People were streaming in from every direction, and the situation would only become more dangerous. Still, they were talking about thousands of people's lives…

"Sir…we need to go now!" Lorne's voice was unusually tense, and John followed his gaze to a new crowd trying to force their way in. They were hurling torches into the crowd, and fire had a way of leading to inevitable panic.

"Agreed," Sheppard replied, and began moving laterally toward a relatively empty side of the square. If they could make it to the other side of the demolished meeting hall, and thus to the main roadway, their egress would be much quicker.

Trying to fight their way through the masses, Lorne and Sheppard quickly discovered that the universal effect of pointing a P-90 in someone's face held true here as well. The owner of said face politely stepped aside, or at least ducked out of the way very rapidly. Of course there was the occasional tough guy that had to buck the system and he came away with a bloody nose or a fat lip courtesy of said P-90's solid construction.

In this way the two officers pushed through the angry mob with McKay sandwiched between them and using his elbows to shove away interlopers who strayed too far into his personal space. It became such a finely-tuned rhythm; walk, point, shove, smack, walk some more; that when John pointed his weapon into yet another man's face, he almost didn't notice the familiar features.

"Colonel…" Wick gasped, suddenly toppling forward, and taking Sheppard with him to the ground.

Lorne and McKay turned when they heard a thud and John's muffled 'oof!'. Immediately thinking the worst, they prepared to haul Wick off of John, ready to fight the colonel's attacker if need be.

"Careful! I think he's hurt," John warned as they rolled the Hadrah off of him. At about the same time Wick let out a groan, his eyes fluttering. "Wick, hey buddy, can you hear me?" Sheppard asked. Getting nothing but a faint grunt and blinking, unfocused eyes in response, John pushed himself off the ground and indicated that they should move further out of the main stream of traffic.

"Rah'jien…knives…sir." Wick mumbled as they were dragging him out of the way, but then his eyes slipped closed and his head rolled limply to the side.

Sheppard searched his friend for injuries, soon spotting a wet, discolored patch near Rhoi's shoulder, and another on his side. "Shit, he's been stabbed." John pulled back the slashed material of Wick's shirt, noting that the man had already made a decent attempt to bandage the wound, but he was still bleeding and his pulse was weak. "We need to get him to Beckett ASAP. Can you two carry him?" John asked.

"Well you certainly can't!" McKay snapped, surprising John a little when he didn't say more or complain, but rather adjusted his hold on Wick. Lorne did the same, then nodded to the colonel when he and Rodney had the unconscious Hadrah mostly upright between them.

"All right then, let's go."

* * *

Having McKay and Lorne's attention focused on carrying Wick was both good and bad as far as John was concerned. It was good in that Lorne stopped pestering him about how he was doing, but bad because with both men supporting Wick, John was left to walk on his own. This shouldn't have been an issue because his ankle was by far not the worst of his pains, but he was just so damn _tired_.

He glanced at his watch purely out of morbid curiosity as they trudged up the slope to the palace grounds. The timer was on 18 hours, 37 minutes, so if his brain was still capable of adding numbers accurately then he had been awake for just over 22 and a half hours. Not the longest he'd ever stayed awake, granted, but long enough that he would definitely be sleeping in tomorrow.

At a fork in the path, John took the right branch and then stopped when he noticed that McKay and Lorne weren't continuing on to the left. "Something wrong?" he asked, looking immediately to Wick for signs of distress, but the man remained still and unaware.

"Dr. Beckett's going to want to check you over, sir," Lorne said.

The colonel sighed wearily. "Yes, I'm sure he will, Major, but my room is a whole hell of a lot closer than the doc's clinic at the moment and I fully intend to take a short nap for, say, the next week or so. If he needs me before then, he'll just have to come find me himself." Sheppard turned to go, then paused. "Oh, and Major? Make sure he takes care of Wick first, or I will hold you personally responsible." John wasn't sure how stern he managed to sound, but from Lorne's grin he guessed not very.

"Yes, sir. Have a nice nap."

John managed a tired wave in response, heading for the building that housed the guest quarters. He regretted not accompanying them to the clinic as he was concerned for Wick, but his strength was rapidly flagging and he knew he wouldn't make it that far. Even the path that led around the main house to his destination was mocking him, having grown longer in the time he was away.

Upon reaching his room, he pushed through the layers of heavy tapestries that were his door, shuffled across the massive chamber, and sat down heavily in one of the chairs. John stared longingly at his bed, but knew he couldn't sleep in his soaking wet and filthy uniform. Well, first things first then. He unclipped and unbuckled weapons and holsters with one hand for the better part of five minutes, placing his small arsenal into the bottom drawer of the large wooden chest beside the bed.

He had unfastened his tac vest about halfway before realizing the sling would have to go if he was to get further. John fiddled with the leather straps, not remembering the contraption to be so complex when Yan had helped him into it. He knew he had seen a buckle somewhere that would act as a release mechanism, but was damned if he could find it now. Sighing in frustration, Sheppard got to his feet and trudged to the bathroom. The bright lights there aggravated the headache playing ping-pong between his temples, but once his eyes adjusted he located the clasp quickly enough with a little help from the mirror.

It took some work to undo the main strap, but the sling practically fell away when he was done, leaving no small amount of discomfort in its wake. John leaned against the wall, clutching his left arm protectively to his chest. He had expected pain, but this was ridiculous. He felt like the tin man from Oz, his shoulder rusted in place from being out in the rain too long. The cold, cold rain. He shivered, and eyed the shower. What the hell? He was already here.

As quickly as he could manage, John stripped out of his tac vest and jacket, wincing as the jacket tore at the long-forgotten lacerations on his arms and forced his shoulder to move ever so slightly. He perched unsteadily on the edge of the bathtub to unlace his boots and was mindful of his ankle as he slid the right one off. The ankle was swollen and bruised but amazingly held his weight when he stood to test it. BDUs and boxers joined the muddy, soggy pile, and then John contemplated his t-shirt. After a moment's thought, he stepped under the steaming spray still wearing it.

Half an hour later Sheppard stumbled out of the bathroom, towel around his waist. His head was pounding, his legs were shaky, and he had dozed off twice in the shower, but it was worth it. He was warm, grime-free, and dry save for his t-shirt, which couldn't be helped. John fell onto the gigantic mattress in a controlled collapse, eagerly welcoming oblivion, but soon found that oblivion did not intend to welcome him quite so eagerly. Everything hurt, and he was pretty sure he was scraped and bruised on a cellular level. To make things worse, the shower had returned just enough alertness that he was now feeling wired. His mind started cycling through all the negatives of the day on its own accord and between that and the pain he was soon too restless to even think about sleep. He muttered a frustrated curse and summoned strength from some unknown location to drag himself back upright. Snagging a quilt from the edge of the bed, he wrapped it as snugly around his body as his shoulder would allow and limped over to the window, steadying himself against walls and pieces of furniture along the way.

It was nighttime again, but he was able to see just enough to make out small white flakes filtering through the air. It couldn't really be _snowing_, could it? The colonel actually laughed. Rodney McKay was a genius at physics, and many other things, but forecasting weather wasn't one of them. At some point he intended to get the full story about why the scientist had been attempting to build a weather machine in the first place.

He looked down through the open window to the city below and anger replaced mirth as he contemplated the column of smoke rising from the inferno that was the eighth district. A faint glow was visible further away in the sixth district also, hinting at the dying flames from Wick's explosive Rah'jien trap. Even after all he'd experienced during his years in the military, John could not reconcile the idea obviously held by the Rah'jien that life was expendable. His training had taught him to accept the occasional necessity of sacrificing the few to save the many, had taught him that as a soldier _he_ was expendable if it meant helping those he was charged to protect. But not this. He was sickened that tens of thousands of men and women were out there dead or dying right now because those asshole _ki-wa_ bastards had used them as pawns in what was likely a pointless vendetta.

After a time, the colonel realized his right hand was clenched in a fist around something small and hard. He looked down when he felt warm liquid seeping through his fingers and was surprised to see that the liquid was blood and the object in his hand was the wooden eyeball trinket from the worshippers of Drela. He hadn't even remembered keeping it or picking it up again, but there it was, slicing into his palm and fingers with its razor-edges. "Damn it!" Channeling all his anger toward the Rah'jien, paranoid villagers, beer-drinking reindeer, etc. into one action, John drew back his arm and chucked the offending object out the window.

The motion threw him off-balance and he pitched forward, catching himself on the wide window sill with both hands. He remained there for some time, head bowed, elbows locked, pain and emotion coursing through him in raw streaks. He didn't realize he was trembling until a hand materialized on his arm.

"John? What's wrong? Talk ta me, lad. You're shakin' like a leaf."

It slowly occurred to John who the worried voice belonged to, and his head snapped up so quickly that he nearly lost his grip on the window ledge. "How's Wick?"

The concern on Beckett's face lessened just a little at Sheppard's coherent response, and he smiled a bit, having anticipated the question sooner or later. "Wick's going ta be just fine. The shoulder wound was deep and he lost some blood, but it didn't do major damage. The other wound was superficial. Also, you'll be glad ta know that ya got him ta take the serum in time. It's begun ta reverse the effects of the virus. He's currently sleeping, as I expected you would be from what Major Lorne and Dr. McKay said. Care ta tell me why you're standin' around on a bum ankle by a freezing cold window?" Carson frowned at the colonel.

John looked a little sheepish when he replied, "As unlikely as it sounds, I couldn't sleep. I don't make a very good Santa Claus, Doc. Or a very good doc, for that matter."

"That's not the way I understand it. I don't know what ya expect of yourself, lad, but ya worked a bloody miracle out there today. Ya helped save the lives of tens of thousands of people, and ya can take Wick as proof of that."

"I couldn't help all of them though." It was a simple statement of fact, but the regret in John's voice was clear as he continued, "We both deal with death a lot, but I'm usually the one doing the fighting and causing some of it. Today I was trying to stop it and I had the tools there in front of me, but I still couldn't get to everyone and that was so much worse. I don't know how you can handle that all the time, Carson, but I'll leave you to it any day of the week."

Though John was correct that at times a physician's job was incredibly difficult to cope with, the answer of why and how he managed was simple to Beckett, "I do it because I can save some. Even if it's just one, it's worth it because that person isn't lost. I'm sure you've heard similar things before, but ya don't count the losses, lad, ya count the living. If ya do it any other way it'll overwhelm ya." Beckett paused, allowing John to ponder his words for just a moment before he continued firmly, "Since you're leavin' me to it though, I want ya off your feet right now, Colonel. You're about ta drop, and I intend ta still be able ta count ya as one of the living tomorrow."

John smirked. "Wouldn't be the first time today that I took a nose dive."

"Aye, so I've gathered from certain individuals. Ya can fill me in on the details once you're sittin' down."

"Traitors, all three of 'em," John grumbled, though gladly accepted Carson's support during the few steps it took to reach his bed. The quilt fell away a bit as he sat down, and it didn't take Beckett long to notice his odd outfit of damp t-shirt and towel skirt, or the red splotch that had begun to decorate the quilt where he gripped it loosely in his lacerated hand.

"Trying out a new look there?" Carson asked over his shoulder, heading for his medical bag.

"Rudolph didn't think my riding ability warranted a red hat and coat just yet," John said wryly. "There's sweats and stuff in the top drawer," he added, gesturing to the dresser.

Beckett returned with the clothing and some gauze, the latter of which he pressed to Sheppard's still-bleeding palm, shifting into doctor-mode. "Major Lorne said ya were wearin' a sling earlier. What did ya do ta your arm?" he asked, pushing the quilt further out of the way.

"Oh, you know, there was this nice little cattle stampede, Rudolph slipped, and I made good friends with the ground. Then one of the cattle slipped and did me the favor of popping my arm back into its socket as it was using me to break its fall," John said, wincing as Beckett gently manipulated the injured joint.

"Son, it's a bloody wonder you're still alive with the trouble ya find," Carson shook his head and began the slow process of helping John to remove his t-shirt without disturbing his shoulder, which was badly swollen. Setting the shirt aside, he eyed the various other bruises and lacerations that covered the colonel's torso and arms, and though some weren't what he would call minor, they would heal with proper treatment. Satisfied for the moment, he handed Sheppard his clothes. "Can ya can get changed without passing out on me or do ya need a hand?"

John gave the doctor a look. "You're talking small potatoes compared with the rest of my day, Carson." He got to his feet, but quickly grabbed for the bed and sat back down again when his headache flared and vertigo tried its hardest to knock him over. Rubbing his temples, Sheppard muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'shoot me'.

Beckett patted his knee sympathetically. "I think the rest of your day has finally caught up with ya, lad. You'll feel better once you're lying down. Come on, let's try this again."

With Beckett holding him steady, John managed to pull on his boxers and sweats, discarding the towel. He blinked open drooping eyelids. Where had Carson gone? Wasn't he just right there?

"Colonel?"

John turned. Oh, there he was…both of him. Sheppard swayed, but the Becketts moved in tandem and caught him, keeping him upright.

"Easy now. Don't fall asleep just yet. I need ya ta crawl into bed first."

"Sorry," John said as Beckett sat him down on the edge of the mattress. The next thing he knew he was lying flat with no recollection of having moved, and Carson was taking his pulse. His muscles were feeling shaky again and the room was spinning. "What's going on?" he mumbled in confusion, closing his eyes against the nauseating effect.

"You're physically exhausted, lad. You've been running on adrenaline, and now that you've slowed down your body is demanding rest. Don't fight it." Carson picked up the quilt from the end of the bed and shook it out, tucking it around the trembling colonel as he continued, "I'll want ta take another look at your shoulder, but first I need ta tell Rodney and Major Lorne that ya are in fact still breathing so they'll stop pacin' the hallway. If I don't, we're gonna end up owing the Hadrah a new carpet." Beckett noticed that his remark elicited a small smile from John. He patted the colonel's leg as he turned toward the door. "I won't be long, but go on ta sleep if ya can."

Beckett's footsteps had barely faded away when Sheppard heard the doctor's voice coaxing him to open his eyes. Didn't Beckett know that he felt crappy enough without watching the room spin too? The bed dipped a little and John was vaguely aware of Carson sitting down next to him even as a cool cloth on his forehead soothed him back toward sleep. He was a half-second from oblivion when something invaded his ear. Forcing heavy eyelids apart slightly, John was about to pull away from the intrusion, then realized it was just the doc taking his temperature.

Carson smiled when he noticed Sheppard watching him. "Welcome back, Colonel. How are ya feeling?"

"Hot," John rasped, trying to get sound past the dryness of his throat. He swallowed, which helped a little, but also hurt thanks to the Rah'jien attempting to strangle him earlier. "Not so good…worse than a few minutes ago." John paused at the odd look he was receiving from Carson. "A few hours ago?" he corrected uncertainly.

"Aye, though it's getting closer to a day now actually. A few of the deeper cuts on your arms were a wee bit infected and ya spiked a fever late last night. You've been pretty out of it since then, and your temp's still higher than I'd like, but it looks as though the antibiotics are finally starting ta knock it down some."

John shifted a bit against the pillows that were propped behind him, feeling the IV in his arm before he saw it. When he did look down, his eyes widened a bit in surprise. He really _had_ been out of it. His left arm was again in a sling, but the regular kind this time. Butterfly bandages and gauze dressings decorated both of his arms and his right hand (damn religious fanatics!), and though he couldn't see his feet beneath the blankets, he could tell his ankle had been wrapped as well. "You've been busy," John remarked, raising an eyebrow.

Beckett nodded. "That I have. Honestly, I'm surprised ya aren't in worse shape from the stories Wick was tellin' me."

"How's he doing?" John perked up at the mention of his friend's name.

"Still a bit weak from the blood loss and virus, but he's doing remarkably well, considering. The Mage's personal physician is keeping an eye on him."

"And the Mage herself?" Sheppard locked eyes with Beckett, and knew the answer even before the doctor shook his head no.

"Damn. I need to go see Wick." John started to sit up, but Carson gently pushed him back down again.

"Sorry, son. Not yet. You're on strict orders of bed rest until I say otherwise. If we were at home, you'd be in the infirmary. As it is the only reason you're not there now is because I had everything I needed ta treat ya already on hand at the clinic and I didn't want ta stress your body further by movin' ya."

"How long then?" John asked, frustrated.

"We'll talk about it tomorrow if your fever keeps coming down."

John narrowed his eyes. "That's not an answer."

"No, it's not," Carson said evenly. "You've been very sick the past several hours, Colonel, and just because you're not bleedin', it doesn't mean you're not injured. Dislocations and sprains and bruises need rest ta heal just as much as gunshots and stab wounds do. We all have a lot of work left here, and ya need ta be healthy if you're going ta be able ta help the surviving Hadrah in the weeks ahead."

"I know. I just wish I could've done more for them before it came to this." John sighed, massaging his stiff neck as best he could with his bandaged hand.

"Aye, me too." Beckett paused to study Sheppard's face and noticed faint pain lines starting to form. "Is your shoulder bothering you, Colonel?"

"That and just about everything else." John admitted, figuring he had nothing to lose since he was stuck here anyway.

Beckett nodded knowingly, and stepped over to a nearby table that was littered with various medical supplies. He returned with a syringe which he injected into Sheppard's IV port. "I'm giving you a muscle relaxant and anti-inflammatory painkiller. We'll ice your shoulder again later on, but this should help with any discomfort you're having in the meantime."

"Thanks, Doc."

"You're welcome. Try ta get some rest. I'll be back ta check on ya later, but I have my radio so if ya need anything before then, just let me know."

"Will do…hey, Doc?"

Beckett stopped a few feet from the doorway and turned back around. "Yes, Colonel?"

"If I'm Santa Claus, and you're helping me, doesn't that kinda make you an elf?" John grinned.

Carson looked annoyed for a moment, but then he smiled back pleasantly. "Why yes, I suppose it does. An elf in possession of very large pointy needles. Sweet dreams, Colonel." Not waiting for a response, Beckett turned and left, still grinning.

Alone in his room, John's grin faded and he shivered, though it had very little to do with being cold. He had always been afraid of elves as a child. Now he knew exactly why. Santa would just give you a lump of coal in your stocking if you were naughty. Elves would suck your blood. Sweet dreams, indeed…

* * *

THE END 


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